Lots of Latino pawing the stage last week, and not just by the horse. A snowy white stallion piaffed its hoofs to Bizet's 'Habanera' in the flamenco Carmen at Sadler's Wells (continuing this week before touring to Salford, Edinburgh and Southampton). Unlike the other performers, it's a dainty creature, kept on a tight rein. It is supposed to be the rider who takes Carmen's fancy. She seems more enamoured of the horse, tugging its forelock and flaunting her charms while it paces politely.

Salvador Távora stages Carmen's story as an Andalusian folk opera, complete with drums, cornets, guitarists, singers and dancers. Bizet's operatic heroine has been usurped by a real-life cigarrera from Seville, whose freedom fighter legend was passed on to Távora by his great-grandmother. The saga of Carmen's defiance is recited by three cigar-rolling women, whose songs need to be mugged up in advance: the tale is incomprehensible through action alone.

The problem with flamenco is that it cannot carry narrative. In this production, story and emotions start at fever pitch. Carmen (Lalo Tejada) is already in a state when we meet her. She clutches her head, shakes her fists, lashes the top layer of her skirt and pounds her feet. Don José (Marco Vargas) conveys his love and sympathy by throbbing his heels, slapping his thigh and flicking his long, unsoldierly hair.

Then they get really upset. Carmen throws a political tantrum on behalf of Andalusia. Don José goes berserk when he catches her dancing with a stallion. He stabs her, the military shoots him and the horse opera ends in a thunder of blood, roses, church bells, incense and braying bugles. Performances remain undimmed since the production last appeared at the Wells three years ago. Plenty of conviction but no spontaneity, unless the horse gets spooked.

Julio Bocca's Ballet Argentino ended its first-ever London visit with a tango suite to Piazzolla's music, the women flicking their hoofs - sorry, feet - between the men's legs. Tango shares flamenco's preoccupation with death and its high levels of tension. Danced by a ballet troupe, the moves have more variety than usual: Bocca seduces a table, as well as his leading lady, Cecilia Figaredo, and man, Lucas Oliva. There's still not enough light and shade, though, in a programme featuring works that outstay their welcome.

Bocca, who runs the Buenos Aires-based company while remaining a principal dancer with American Ballet Theatre, commissions modern choreography to suit his young dancers. Mauricio Wainrot shows them off in Desde Lejos, a combination of contemporary, folk and ballet techniques to music by Wim Mertens. They run, skip and jump attractively, leaving the virtuoso leaps to Bocca. The tone, non-specifically ecstatic, is rather too close to that of Robert Hill's Encuentros, which opens the programme.

Hill uses an overblown orchestral concerto by Kurt Atterberg to set the dancers swirling, the women on pointe, the men in neat white knickers and singlets (which look ludicrous with beards). The choreography is blandly lyrical, with no intricate beaten steps to interrupt the flow. In the central pas de deux, Rosana Perez, slender as an osier, weaves her arms around her head and neck in a tender solo. She barely acknowledges Bocca's presence, remaining a virginal vision even when they dance together. The ballet could have ended there instead of continuing with an interminable third movement.

Alina Cojocaru made an exquisite debut as Nikiya in the Royal Ballet's revival of La Bayadère, partnered by Angel Corella from ABT. He looked after her solicitously before launching into his solo variations like a rocket. Never mind the hero's comatose condition: watch how fast Corella zooms around the stage. Tiny Cojocaru, meanwhile, amplified every move. Now she knows she can sail through scary Act III, she could linger over her musical phrasing in future, as she does so lusciously in the rest of the ballet.